


Thank God My Dreams Don't Come True

by RejectsCanon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (i think??), Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I understand now when people say tagging is hard, I wrote this initially not long after season 3 ended, M/M, My First Fanfic, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 03B, Pre-Relationship, Scott and Lydia are really just mentioned im sorry, Violence, but it could have been if the teen wolf writers werent cowards, could be read as platonic or shippy, i don't know what else to tag??, the violence happens in a dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RejectsCanon/pseuds/RejectsCanon
Summary: Stiles has nightmares.Stiles has nightmares that make it impossible for him to sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, he's struck with the memories of when he was possessed by the Nogitsune. He knows that it wasn't really him doing those things, but he remembers them, vividly. And if he remembers it, why couldn't he stop it? It feels like an out-of-body experience. Like he's watching himself do everything, but he can't stop it, can't move, can't scream, can't can't can't. And he wakes up a sweating, panting, terrified mess.Or, Stiles has nightmares after everything that happened with the nogitsune, and finally gets some help.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 1
Kudos: 79





	Thank God My Dreams Don't Come True

**Author's Note:**

> Hi to anyone who's reading this. So, I wrote this way back in 2015 when I was a senior in high school and season 3 had just finished. I never posted it because I was way too nervous and didn't think it was very good. Now, I've graduated from college, the world is going to absolute shit, and I thought 'might as well, what's the worst that could happen'. Before posting, I didn't change much, just went through and corrected some spelling errors, but I didn't change any of the plot, I'm trusting 17 me to have had correct plot details lol. That being said, I'm sure there are still errors, so constructive criticism is welcome.

_"Shake me from my sleep, whisper in my ear, tell me it was all a dream, and you're here to make, the nightmares go away."_

Stiles has nightmares.

Stiles has nightmares that make it impossible for him to sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, he's struck with the memories of when he was possessed by the Nogitsune. He knows that it wasn't really him doing those things, but he remembers them, vividly. He remembers twisting a sword through his best friend. He remembers breaking into Derek's loft and making Mr. Argent and his father fight. He remembers totally kicking Derek's ass, and okay, maybe that part was kind of cool and he's trying to remember how to do it for future reference, but still. He remembers how he messed with everyone’s minds. He remembers the look on his father’s face when he thought his son was gone. And if he remembers it, why couldn't he _stop it?_ It feels like an out-of-body experience. Like he's watching himself do everything, but he can't stop it, can't move, can't scream, _can't_ _can't can't_. And he wakes up a sweating, panting, terrified mess.

So Stiles has nightmares. He goes nights upon nights without sleeping to try and avoid them. But when he finally passes out from exhaustion, the nightmares are worse. They're things that didn't happen, at least, _he thinks_ they didn’t happen. But last time he checked he didn't brutally murder his father with the bat he keeps in his room. Now _that_ had been a fun dream. Or they're things that almost happened. Mr. Argent actually shooting him, which in turn caused his dad to shoot, and evidently caused chaos. Oliver drilling holes in Malia's head because he didn't give in fast enough. Ms. McCall, his dad, and all the people hurt by the Oni dying because they couldn't stop the Nogitsune in time. Stiles tells himself that this is better, one night full of terrible nightmares instead of every night full of equally horrifying nightmares.

As far as Stiles can tell, the only person who knows about his problem is Lydia. Only because Stiles had been so desperate to hide the bags under his eyes that he asked Lydia to work some cover-up magic on him so he could keep his secret for a little longer. She had given him a speech, which summarized was, "I disapprove of this, but I'm going to help you anyway even though you should really tell Scott, Stiles, I'm serious." Stiles thinks Scott has figured it out though, by the careful, worried looks he gives him. Hell, he thinks even Coach has noticed something was up. He doesn't push him as hard in practice some days and lets him op-out of classroom discussions. This should really be a red flag that he's not hiding it well enough, but in a strange way, it's nice, having someone indirectly telling you _it's okay to not be okay all the time._

Stiles is always careful not to fall asleep somewhere else. If Scott, Isaac, and Stiles are spending some time at Scott's house playing video games or watching movies, he always leaves as soon as he feels the beginning of sleepiness. Or when they have pack meeting nights, which are rare but still happen, he always leaves as soon as the important stuff is done and everyone else gets comfortable to hang out for a few hours.

He messes up one night, though. The pack was having an informational meeting taking place at Derek's loft, something about another pack passing through on their way to another town. So far it wasn't a threat. The other pack had sent a warning with plenty of notice and promised they were just passing through and would be gone in a few hours. Stiles wasn't particularly worried or interested for the matter. Even if the pack did decide to attack, with all the crap they've dealt with in the past two years, it would be a cakewalk to deal with them. So he settles down, sinking into Derek's couch, _and when did Derek's couch get so comfortable, oh my, God_. He's surrounded by warmth and comfort and the feeling of safety. Because he feels safe here with Derek. He trusts Derek with his life, has on several occasions. He knows Derek won't let him hurt anyone, will take care of him if things get bad and wow he must really be tired because he's never contemplated his trust for Derek before or how deep that trust goes. The last thing Stiles remembers before giving in to sleep, is the hope that maybe Derek will wake him up if he starts to have a nightmare.

* * *

  
The first thing Stiles recognizes is that he's in his living room. The lights are off, the television muted but playing an old space movie he and his mother used to watch. _Mars Attacks!_ , Stiles remembers. There's a scene where the martian leader turns an army general into a bug and steps on him. Stiles remembers that for a whole month after first watching the movie with his mom, every time he saw an ant in the house, he was convinced it was the general trying to escape. So instead of killing it, his mom would take it outside and put it in the grass. Stiles used to go visit his mother in the hospital with his dad's laptop, and they would watch the movie.

Stiles looks around the living room for any signs. Usually, in his dreams, he's met with another person right away. Or given a way to go; an open door, a light at the end of a hall. Something eerie and stupid and so _painfully_ obvious, but never fails to make his pulse race and his head pound. He finds nothing out of the ordinary, other than the fact that the room is cold. Stiles is again reminded of his mother, the way her hands were so cold near the end, like ice. Stiles would always hold her hands in his and try to warm her up. It always made her smile, a soft smile that Stiles would think of as _his_. Because she never gave that small smile to anyone else, only to him when he would do little things that made her happy.

Stiles walks around the living room, flicks a switch but the light doesn't turn on. Stiles decides, with a sudden burst of indignation, that he's not going to go looking for the destruction this time. He's going to wait and make it come to him because this is his house, damn it, and he'll do what he pleases in it. He plops down on the couch, which is cold just like the rest of the room, it makes him shiver but he ignores it. He grabs the remote from the coffee table and un-mutes the TV, but the only sound to come out is static. It makes Stiles a bit sad because the ant part is coming in a few minutes and he wanted to watch it. Stiles mutes the TV again, he's seen the movie enough times that he can recite the lines without the sound on. A sound from the kitchen makes Stiles freeze. It sounds like the refrigerator opening and closing, then a cabinet doing the same. Like his dad was getting a midnight snack and deliberately not being sneaky, because that cabinet closed pretty loudly. Stiles heaves himself off the couch- he was getting comfortable, dang it- and goes to check the kitchen. It wouldn't be the first time his dreams have taken him here. He flips a switch to turn on the light, not expecting it to work when the one in the living room didn't and is pleasantly surprised to see the room come alive in the light. He is not, on the other hand, pleasantly surprised to see who is sitting at the table. Actually, he's horrified because this is seriously fucked up and Stiles is already feeling the fear.

His mother is sitting at the kitchen table. She looks sickly, but like the last few months before her death and not the last few days. She's wearing her favorite pajamas; blue bottoms with little clouds and moons on them and a white t-shirt that Stiles can tell belongs to his father. She's eating a slice of chocolate cake that looks store-bought and _very_ unhealthy. She's not even drinking a glass of milk with it, just a glass of something dark that looks suspiciously like soda. Stiles knows for a fact that there is no soda in his house, or chocolate cake, for the matter. Especially not something as insulting as _store-bought_ , because when he does allow his dad to cheat on his diet, he doesn't half-ass it with store-bought, no. He bakes it. Homemade.

Stiles tries to call out to her, but she can't hear him. He gets right in her face and tries to take the offending snacks away and just ends up passing his hands through the air. He hears another noise, this time from the stairs. Stiles watches as he comes down the stairs. But it's not him, _not you_ , he tells himself frantically. _Not you. The Nogitsune, not you_. He's- its- wearing the same clothes from the night at the school, like it always is. The bags under its eyes prominent against pale skin, and hair sticking up in a million different directions. It smirks at Stiles like it knows the horror Stiles is feeling. And maybe it does. It heads into the kitchen, straight towards his mother.

"Oh, Stiles," his mother says, shock clear in her voice. "I didn't think you'd be awake this late. Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"Something like that," the Nogitsune answers, sending another smirk Stiles' way. It takes the seat next to her. "What are you doing awake? You should be resting for your appointment tomorrow."

His mother waved her hand dismissively. "It's just an appointment, what's a late-night snack going to hurt?" she says with a little laugh at the end.

"I think _who_ is the word you're looking for, there, mom," the Nogitsune says getting up from the chair to stand behind her. Stiles tries to move, to get closer, to force the monster away from his mother, but he can't. He's frozen to the spot and can't move anything. Can't even raise his arms. He tries to scream, to yell at his mother to get away, run before the monster turns his malicious hands on her, but his voice doesn't work. His mouth forms the words and he can feel his throat straining from the force of his yelling, but he hears nothing. No sound comes out. The Nogitsune shoots him a pout, like its sorry things aren't working out for Stiles. But the amusement in its eyes is clear. The pure _joy_ it gets from Stiles' pain.

His mother pays no attention to the words and continues eating. Then her head perks up like she has an idea. "As long as you're back there, sweetheart," his mother begins and Stiles' heart clenches at the word. "could you rub my shoulders? I'm feeling a bit stiff."

The Nogitsune outright smiles at Stiles like he knows just how much hearing his mother call it sweetheart hurt him. "No problem," it says putting its hands on her shoulders and gripping.

At first, it seems like just a regular shoulder rub, the Nogitsune being gentle and putting the pressure in all the right places. His mother starts to relax into the chair, her eyes closing and mouth slipping into a small smile.

_His smile._

And that's when Stiles loses it. He begins yelling harder, louder. Desperately trying to get himself to move, his muscles burning with the effort. Tears are streaming down his face before he can even think to hold them back. He's losing it. The feeling of desperation building, making it almost impossible to breathe. Because that is _his_ smile. His and his alone. No one else and this- this thing- is taking that from him. Like it already didn't take the lives of his friends and neighbors, his ability to sleep soundly, and his ability to trust himself. Now its taking one of the things he holds closest to him about his mother. The one thing about her that was solely his. That she only gave to him when he _deserved it_. This thing doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve anything but to rot in the ground and even that is merciful.

And it’s just looking at him, laughing, while Stiles loses it. “Oh, Stiles,” the Nogitsune says. “If you think that was bad, watch this.” The hands on his mother’s shoulders start roaming up, the pressure increasing. The Nogitsune’s hands land firmly around his mother’s neck, squeezing tightly, effectively cutting off her air. His mother starts to gasp and sputter for air while Stiles tries even harder to move, to scream, to do _something_. But he can’t. _STOP!_ Stiles screams, _STOP, PLEASE STOP!_ But nothing comes out and the Nogitsune laughs even more. His mother’s face is turning red from the lack of oxygen and she’s flailing her arms trying to fight. Suddenly, the Nogitsune lets go, and his mother goes flying back. The chair clattering to the floor and his mom landing beside it. The Nogitsune clucks disapprovingly as he looks down at her, completely ignoring Stiles who is still yelling his head off trying to stop it.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” his mother croaks. She’s still coughing and trying to catch her breath. _It’s not me!_ he screams _I’m right here. It’s not me!_

The Nogitsune steps around her, searching the counter for something. It hums as it goes until it finds what it’s looking for in a drawer. The Nogitsune makes a pleased sound as it holds up a knife. The big one that his dad uses to carve the turkey with at Thanksgiving. “I’m afraid Stiles isn’t here, right now, Claudia. Unfortunately, he was too weak to stop me,” the last part is directed straight at Stiles, confident smirk and all.

And with that, the Nogitsune crouches down with a speed Stiles wished he possessed, and slices the knife from the top of her shoulder, across her chest, and stopping at her stomach.

Stiles stops. Everything in him shuts down because, in all of his nightmares, he’s never once done any harm to his mother. And watching her shirt become soaked in blood, and hearing her crying out in pain- this is breaking him. His mom is still crying, still trying to breathe, still trying to hold on. And she’s screaming at him. Screaming at him to get out, to help her, to call for help.

And then it gets worse. Then she starts yelling questions at him. _Why are you doing this? Why are you hurting me? What happened to the boy I love? Why don’t you love me anymore?_ And Stiles yells back. Things like _It’s not me. I’m not hurting you. I’m right here. I love you so much, I’m so sorry, please._ His mother is screaming his name now. Stiles looks around only to find the Nogitsune gone. He’s not sure when it left, but he doesn’t care. His mom is screaming his name, calling out to him. But he still can’t move and there’s so much blood. So much of his mother’s blood soaking the white t-shirt and the pooling on the floor around her. And her voice is getting fainter, her eyes drooping, and she’s giving up. Suddenly, her voice comes back stronger, still yelling his name.

“STILES!” it’s a deeper voice this time. Not the high pitched wail of his mother. “Stiles!” the voice yells some more. And now he’s shaking. Trembling where he stands and everything goes fuzzy and he doesn’t see his mother anymore.

Everything is black, now, and all he can hear is the deep voice calling his name. Stiles comes to his senses enough to realize everything is black because his eyes are closed, but he’s afraid to open them. He feels hands and arms on him, and his fight or flight reflexes kick in. He can’t run because the hold is strong, but he can damn well fight. He kicks and flails and hits anything that is dumb enough to be near him. He vaguely registers, somewhere in his mind, that the voice becomes soft, and soothing. Whereas before it had been loud and desperate. He hears screaming, but it sounds like it’s coming from a distance, like an echo.

Eventually, he opens his eyes and is taken aback by the familiar scene of Derek’s living room. Stiles slowly starts to recognize the voice that has been soothing him as Derek’s and comes to the conclusion that the arms must belong to him as well. He looks down to confirm that the arms around him are Derek’s and that he is sitting behind Stiles on the couch holding his back to Derek’s chest. Stiles takes into account the distant screaming he was hearing has turned into sobbing.

It takes Stiles even longer to realize that the sobbing is coming from him. He doesn’t know how long it takes him to calm down after. How long it takes for his breathing to return to somewhat normal. For his tears to slow, and then stop completely. But the one thing he does know is that Derek holds him the whole time, never letting go, never moving away. He just keeps holding Stiles, his warm hands gently rubbing down his sides, a steadiness that helps him calm down. All the energy Stiles may have had left leaves him at that point and he lets himself sink into Derek’s chest.

“You okay?” Derek whispers, his breath blowing over Stiles’ ear. Stiles doesn’t think he can talk yet so he just shrugs.

“Do you want me to make you hot chocolate?” Derek asks. And that’s not what Stiles expected. He expected Derek to want to talk about, to want details. And what surprises Stiles, even more, is that he wants to talk about it with Derek. Wants to tell Derek all about his nightmares. If anything he thought he’d be embarrassed about this happening in front Derek, but it doesn’t feel embarrassing, it feels safe. And isn’t that the kicker? That somewhere along the line he began to associate Derek with safeness.

“Yes, please,” Stiles whispers, voice gruff and harsh.

Derek gently maneuvers Stiles off his chest so he can get off the couch. Stiles moves to get up as well. “No no no, stay,” Derek says. Stiles looks up at him, makes eye contact as he stands up anyway because he’s still Stiles, no matter what. Derek smirks at him and allows Stiles to follow him into the kitchen. Stiles hops up onto the counter so that his socked feet don't have to touch the cold tile because he’s had enough coldness for one night, thank you. As he watched Derek going through the motions of filling up the kettle --because Derek _actually has a kettle, who knew_ \-- and boiling the water, he feels a warmness in his chest that he hasn't felt in a long time. And maybe that is what makes him start talking. The normalness of it all is something he hasn't had in years and didn't realize he was missing.

“I’ve never had a dream like that before,” Stiles says. It’s out of his mouth before he can even think to stop it. Derek just hums while he reads the back of the hot chocolate box, inviting Stiles to either leave it at that or to keep talking.

“It was about my mom.” At that Derek looks up at him, eyes soft and understanding. The kettle whistles and, huh, Stiles didn't think kettles actually whistled because he’s never really seen one before, but that was an actual whistle. Cool. Derek pours the steaming water into a medium-sized mug, adding the advised amount of chocolate on the box, and then doubling it and for whatever reason that makes Stiles smile a bit. Derek mixes it, hands it to Stiles, who grips it in both hands, and then sets to work on making his own and Stiles can't help but notice that he only puts the directed amount in his without doubling it.

“I think I have marshmallows in the cupboard if you want some,” Derek says.

“I killed my mom in my dream,” Stiles blurts instead of an answer. Derek stops and sighs. He gently leads Stiles off the counter, out of the kitchen, and back to the couch. He sits Stiles down, grabs a fluffy blanket, and sits down next to Stiles, situating the blanket over the both of them. And that’s how Stiles tells Derek about his dream, and every other dream, with occasional breaks to drink his hot chocolate.

By the time Stiles stops and takes the last drink of his (now cold) hot chocolate, the sun is peeking in through the high windows and Stiles feels better than he has in weeks.

“That’s… pretty intense,” Derek whispers. Stiles nods. “Why didn't you tell anyone?”

“I thought I could handle it by myself,” Stiles says and Derek tenses. “But I don't think I have to anymore. Right?” Stiles hopes Derek can help him with this, or at least be there for him.

“Right,” Derek says, voice stern and reassuring.

“That was really good hot chocolate, by the way,” Stiles says sometime later and Derek laughs a bit.

“You think you can sleep now?” Derek asks quietly.

“Yeah, I think so.” Derek arranges them on the couch so they’re cuddled up against each other, Derek’s arms wrapped around Stiles in a comforting embrace that makes Stiles smile. The blanket is warm around him and he’s more comfortable now than he’s been in weeks in his own bed (who knew Derek’s chest would make such a great pillow). Stiles lets the feeling of sleepiness take over his body, giving in to the need. And when Derek whispers a quiet “I’m not going anywhere,” in Stiles’s ear, Stiles knows he’s safe.

Stiles sleeps without nightmares for the first time in months, and he wakes up hours later with the taste of hot chocolate still on his tongue and a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it through, thanks for reading! All comments are welcome if you feel the desire. I have a few ideas for new fics that I'm playing around with in my head (not necessarily in the Teen Wolf fandom, but you never know), so I'll welcome any feedback for future writing. I'm not entirely happy with the ending. I wasn't when I first wrote it and I'm not really now, but I also don't really know what to change, so, hopefully, you enjoyed reading!
> 
> Here are some links to help out in the various crises happening in the world:  
> Black Lives Matter petitions, donations, and other resources: https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/  
> If you can't donate, here's a youtube playlist where (to my knowledge) all the proceeds from the videos are being donated to various BLM charities: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlhfJSrlPNthnoD1XFDHzmdf6Mpt2pe-2&feature=share  
> Yemen: https://www.savethechildren.org/us/what-we-do/where-we-work/greater-middle-east-eurasia/yemen  
> COVID-19 & Others (U.S. specific): https://www.acf.hhs.gov/otip/news/covid-19-resources-services-support


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